A tiny flutter, a flip, a fine tuned movement and I know that you are there.  You exist because we made you, because we held our breath and hoped that, someday, you would come.  Little did we know that you were simply waiting in the wings, coiled & ready to spring at the slightest nod from us.

We’ve seen your picture; a grainy, grey image, but already you have hints of my features.  Your chin is rounded, like mine, and there are the ever so slight shadows of those infamous Cherokee cheekbones which run thru my side of the family.  Your eyes look big and though the genetic odds are stacked against it, I secretly hope that they are blue.

You like music with a beat and applesauce, blueberry smoothies and the sound of Edgar’s voice.  Your not too keen on peanut butter or the alarm clock, which I fear is a trait you’ve already inherited from your aunt Aubrey.

These are things that I know and like your first crude photograph, these truths are blurry and soft around the edges but they are the evidence, however hazy, that you do exist.  Those other things, yet formed and too distant to know yet, we can soley dream about.  And as we wonder & muse over who you will be, we can only hope that you are as excited about this epic journey as we are and that you know, even deep within your bodily cocoon, that you are ours, little one, all ours.